


Pretty

by ko_drabbles



Series: Please Eat, Kyoya [1]
Category: Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types
Genre: Anorexia, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Crossdressing, Depression, Eating Disorders, Fainting, Illnesses, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Jealousy, M/M, Vomiting, Weight Issues, emaciation, envy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-07-08 17:04:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15934694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ko_drabbles/pseuds/ko_drabbles
Summary: An Ootori is supposed to be controlled, but Kyoya liked the thrill of the unpredictable, the uncontrollable.This gave him a taste of both, and a host had to be pretty, right?





	1. Belts and Sock Glue

Kaoru always knew Kyoya was skinny.

It was obvious, and hardly a secret. His blazer used to emphasis his nipped in waist, the cut of his trousers showing off a slight gap between his thighs, and his collarbones peaked out of his porcelain skin so daintily. His wrists were small, veins painted in light blues and purples, and his fingers were thin and delicate. He was the thinnest one there, proportions wise.

After all, both he and Hikaru had lean muscle, and shoulders that would surely broaden as they got older. They ran around, making mischief and playing games. Mori might as well have been chiselled out of marble, and any one who even had the slightest inclination towards men would just drool over that muscular frame. Even Tamaki, who was supposed to be the token het of the group, confessed that, if he had to do a dude, it would be Mori. Then there was Tamaki himself, who was rather toned with some softness here and there, which most of the girls only found cuter.

In sort, Kyoya just had a different sort of body type to a lot of them. He didn’t exert himself in gym, because he wasn’t the type to, even if he _did_ still take it because it was healthier than sitting around all day, not doing anything. Still, Kaoru always liked that, despite the fact Kyoya was all knees and elbows, softness still stayed in his face. His cheeks were even somewhat chubby, and it was just plain adorable, especially paired with his expressive eyes.

He might have had a… _minor_ crush.

Well, that image of Kyoya wasn’t really up-to-date, as such. His uniform was too big on him now, and it wasn’t the only thing; his hoodies and other tops were all slack also, swallowing him up as if he was wearing them purposely oversized. His collarbones strained against his now translucent skin, and his cheeks were nowhere near chubby.

It wasn’t like no one said anything, Kaoru must have asked a dozen times just by himself, confused as to how his already-thin senpai had weight falling off him as if he were stripping off layers of clothes. All he got in return was a smile and something along the lines of him feeling nauseous, his metabolism already naturally high. It was a plausible explanation, of course, but there was something about it that just didn’t seem right.

“Kaoru.”

Speak of the devil, Kyoya’s voice cut through his introspection, an eyebrow raised in a question than Kaoru answered with a smile. “What’s up?” He asked, taking note of the costume he’d put together for Kyoya. Granted, the theme “cozy” was very vague, but seasonally appropriate and gave him creative freedom. Not to mention, the freedom to put Kyoya in a skirt; that was always nice.

“Do you have a belt and some sock glue? These won’t stay up…” Kyoya requested, and sure enough they weren’t. He could see the other boy’s hand clenched around some fabric under the cream jumper, preventing the little pink skirt from falling, and the stripped socks were halfway down his shins, rather than up to midthigh. It all looked too big, and it didn’t make sense as he used the measurements he’d been given.

“You’ve got to start trying to eat more,” Kaoru sighed, rummaging around for the glue and a belt, “It’s dangerous, being that thin. I bet I could fit my hand between your thighs…”

“Well, if you’re offering,” Kyoya smirked, a flirty lilt to his voice, and Kaoru scolded himself for the admittedly Freudian slip. He did want them to get distracted from the situation at hand, the whole thing too important to ignore in favour of Kyoya’s not-so-subtle invitations.

“This isn’t some joke,” He sighed, passing over the stick of sock glue he’d managed to find among the disaster that was the host club’s back room, going back to search for a belt as Kyoya attempted to secure his socks without dropping his skirt, “Tamaki told me what happened in gym. You’re sick, yet you tried to keep running? If you can’t eat, with your metabolism, you shouldn’t even be attempting gym classes –”

“He had no right,” Kyoya murmured angrily, almost to himself, before he looked at him once more, attempting some sort of placating smile quirking the corners of his mouth, “I might have been pushing myself too hard, but I’m okay Kaoru; really. I’m not participating anymore, so it’s not a problem. I’m trying, I just feel nauseous…”

Kaoru wanted to argue further, unsure as to whether Kyoya could be in denial of how much weight he’d lost, but something stopped him. The words lost momentum between his lungs and his teeth, petering out on his tongue, nothing but awkward silence remaining as he finally found the thin, white belt and passed it to Kyoya.

All was going well until, having threaded it through the skirt’s belt loops, Kyoya’s brows furrowed once more. He let out a small huff of frustration, and Kaoru felt something in him just freeze. If how thin Kyoya’s thighs were made his blood run cold, then the sight of the belt’s holes far from where the buckle rested turned it arctic. Kyoya had narrow hips, but it was absurd how _big_ the belt seemed in his bony, almost blue fingers, encircling bones and skin in some effort to hold the clothing up.

“It’s too big,” Kyoya commented, and Kaoru bit back the reaction of ‘ _it’s not too big, you’re too small_ ’ as he removed it once more. There was no hope in finding a smaller one, so Kaoru could only really cut another hole in it. It was with no small amount of revulsion that he wondered if he’d have to get a child’s belt. If Kyoya even could lose more weight, his knees already wider than most of his leg, he certainly would. Perhaps if he tried looking for more female clothes, that might work, although Kyoya was too tall for any of the trousers.

That was an altogether disturbing thought. Kyoya was almost an adult, yet he had to consider ways of adapting the clothes to his tiny frame. He’d never thought of Kyoya as delicate, despite the boy’s stick thin build, but now… It almost seemed to fit.

Unlike Kyoya’s clothes.


	2. Soft and Sweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tamaki had to wonder... What was even the problem? It was all too vague to him, really.

Tamaki was rather pleased with how successful the cosy theme had been, especially as Kaoru had most of the creative control for the first time. He was rather pleased with his jumper and skinny jeans, feeling relaxed and comfortable, which only seemed to rub off on the guests. Tamaki’s idea of success differed slightly from Kyoya’s, his best friend focussing more on financial benefit rather than the brightness of the girls’ smiles, but it’d do his friend a disservice to act like he didn’t care at all. Because he did. Kyoya liked people to be happy, he just didn’t like showing off those virtues, choosing the guise of a money-grubbing asshole.

Being in charge of the host club’s budget was also a factor, considering how much the club spent on the aesthetic and atmospheric pieces for every theme. It was partly why the back room/dressing room/prop cupboard was such a mess. They’d all _tried_ to go through it and actually mark down some sort of inventory, but it soon went to hell again. Still, Kaoru managed to save some money by buying their outfits while he was in Harajuku with Hikaru and their mother, so Kyoya wasn’t having a heart attack.

Speaking of the other boy, Tamaki paused while making some herbal tea to stare at Kyoya, curled up on the sofa with his notebook on his lap, his tablet beside him, all the while nursing a hot cup of coffee. The sweater paws he had from the overly big jumper shielded his hands from the hot china, as well as adding to the cosy effect, and it seemed that a group of animated, very happy girls found it adorable. Still, there were a few things that made him feel… uncomfortable.

_“Look how thin he is, I’m so jealous!”_

Kyoya had started sitting down to observe the hosts because his legs hurt, the same reason that their gym teacher had prohibited him from taking part. Looking at Kyoya in that outfit, ghostly pale skin between the top of the thigh highs and the pink miniskirt, it was no wonder why. His legs were willowy, almost reminiscent of a new born deer, and it was more obvious than ever just how thin Kyoya was. Not that Tamaki didn’t know, not with Kyoya’s skeletal hands and blue tinted nails, but it was almost like a slap in the face. He really had to start pushing Kyoya to eat more, they did spent a lot of time together, and friends helped friends.

“Mommy dear, have I told you how soft and sweet you look in that outfit?” He inquired, voice melodic, and they could both hear the girls squeal. They knew how to play this game, after all. Kyoya’s feelings for him had been genuine at one point, it’d been talked out and things cleared up; there was nothing wrong with a little fanservice, but not too much.

“Will I still look _soft and sweet_ with my hands around your neck?” Kyoya teased, although he did put the cup of coffee on the table in front of him, “Can I help you, or do you need to go back to your clients, like a gentleman.”

“I just wanted to see if you wanted to come over for dinner,” He shrugged, light and airy, trying to distract from how serious he felt about the matter, “Shima misses you being there, says that you’re a good influence on my table manners – not that there’s anything wrong with them.”

“Says the guy who started drinking ramen broth straight out of the bowl like a dog…” Was the response, to which Tamaki stuttered out something barely resembling a sentence, meaning something along the lines of _that’s how you’re meant to do it, and you know that_. He knew teasing was just that, the undercurrent of satisfaction he got from Kyoya’s genuine smile helped clear away some of his indignance, “I’d love to Tamaki, but I can’t.”

Tamaki swallowed thickly, eying how Kyoya’s shoulders shook slightly, as if he were cold. Or scared, although that possibility was soon tossed out; someone like Kyoya wouldn’t get scared over a dinner invitation, after all. Still, he wasn’t aware of any plans, even if Kyoya did have a life outside of the host club. Something about it wouldn’t leave his chest, however; clogging up his heart and lungs and itching under his skin.

“How come?” He inquired, an attempt at a casual question that didn’t come out quite right. Still, it wasn’t like asking was out of character for him, and so Kyoya Ootori actually took the bait. Those thin fingers rubbed over bloodshot eyes, underlined with dark shadows, and he let out a breath that seemed to – if possible – make him seem even more exhausted.

“I have homework to complete before tomorrow,” Kyoya explained, picking up his coffee once more, jumper sleeves pulled over his hands, “I fell asleep too early last night and didn’t finish, I’d rather not fail because you wished to wine and dine me.”

“ _You_ fell asleep?!” Tamaki scoffed, an incredulous look crossing his face for a moment, “Kyoya Ootori fell asleep before completing work? I know you, Kyoya; you’d be doing our English assignment on your deathbed, it’s how you are –”

“Tamaki, quiet,” Kyoya hissed, cutting Tamaki’s rant off and bringing a hand to his head with a wince, “You’re causing a scene and giving me a headache. The girls are waiting anyway, so go. Shoo.”

Tamaki let out something all too close to a growl, frustrated and unsure what to do, fear licking at the back of his rational thought. Well, now he _knew_ something was wrong. It was so certainly, seriously wrong and he didn’t even know the full problem. Although, something did come to him later, which almost made him drop a slice of cake right in a client’s lap.

Kyoya’s family was full of doctors, so why did he just seem to grow sicker?


	3. Bow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bones curve outwards, knees shaking as he walks and his knuckles white as he holds the box. However, he'll still refuse help. He still won't admit weakness. 
> 
> It's only a matter of time before he falls, figuratively and literally.

Hani frowned as he watched Kyo-chan collecting up the tea sets from the day’s activities, struggling with the box he used to pick up with ease. He couldn't see Kyo-chan's arms underneath the bulky wool, but he could see the tendons in his hands bulging against the boy's skin, and the pinched expression on his pale, gaunt face. Kyo-chan was never the most athletic person by nature, but it seemed all of his strength and stamina had just melted away with the weight he shed.

Hani acted young, but he wasn't actually an idiot. He knew he could act selfishly, how he could hurt the people he cared about. They all remembered Takeshi pushing him until he threw him, needing that physical confirmation of "I've done wrong" and dispelling it with pain. It wasn't the last time, either; they all remember the cast the boy wore when he got so frustrated, so guilty, and he couldn't get Hani to hurt him. He'd slammed his hand in the door so, so hard. He cracked his bones and did it with an almost satisfied expression behind the tears and gritted teeth.

Despite appearances, and actions, Hani did care for people.

He supposed Kyo-chan was similar to his cousin, making a crutch out of something painful and convincing himself that he didn't need anything else. There was nothing wrong with a coping mechanism. It was all okay because, deep down, people who hurt themselves think they deserve it.

Or, that's what Hani thought. He didn't talk to Takeshi about his self-harm, and he wouldn't talk to Kyo-chan about "forgotten" lunches and his constant nausea. Despite his childishness, he was painfully observant; but he wouldn't intervene. He couldn't step up for Takeshi, only plugging leaks whenever they appeared, and so he couldn't talk to Kyo-chan.

Besides, they weren't close enough for that. Kyo-chan didn't hang around him - and that was okay! It just wasn't his place. He knew he could only sit back and watch, waiting for someone else to say something. But no one did.

Kao-chan was so close to Kyo-chan. They'd sit together, toned thighs brushing bone-thin ones, and they'd smile and laugh. They'd pause, eyes flicking down to lips, and they'd almost brush them together before the real world came back into focus and they'd put the distance back between their faces once more. The girls would scream and coo, the will-they-won't-they a source of high tension for everyone, and Kyoya would have another mug of coffee or tea and continue his paperwork.

Still, when Kyo-chan wasn't looking, Kao-chan always looked as if he was ready to run over and catch the boy if he fell. Quite literally. Although Kyo-chan tried to hide it, he got dizzy spells fairly frequently, but that wasn't surprising. You can't be that thin and be healthy, after all.

Tama-chan just seemed to watch from the side-lines with a sad acceptance of this. He knew that he couldn't magically fix Kyo-chan, despite having tried in the past. But he'd learned. Kyoya was happy, but then something cracked, and his weight got lower and lower. Hani, despite being observant, couldn't say why. He didn't know why anyone would do what he did and didn't want to know. It was some balance of care and selfishness. He didn't want to know what went through Kyo-chan's head with every pound he lost, with every bone that emerged from his skin.

Kyo-chan had never expressed an interest in archaeology, but Hani bitterly thought that he'd be an expert. After all, he was so good at uncovering bones, it'd be child's play for him.

He shook his head, shook the thought away, gaze lingering on Kyo-chan's shaking knees and the disgustingly prominent thigh gap. The jumper made him look almost normal, despite how his thin waist was drowned by the wool, but the exposed skin of his legs just showed off his condition. It made Hani feel… a little sick, to see a body so thin it was almost collapsing in on itself.

He hopped off his chair, trotting over to Kyo-chan and clasping his hands behind his back, looking up at his kohai with that coveted adorable expression of his. It had to be phrased like he was doing something nice. If that didn't work, he'd angle it as if he were trying to get more cake by helping, rather than just wanting Kyo-chan to sit down and rest. He didn't want him to hurt himself more than he already was.

"I'll take it, Kyo-chan!" He pipped, the other boy wincing at the words.

"Thank you senpai, but I can manage," Kyo-chan assured, continuing to take unsteady steps towards the messy back room, "I've done this a million times before."

He had, but each time became more and more unsteady. His legs almost seemed to bow, curving outwards, but it might just be some sort of optical illusion. He hoped so, at least. Still, the way that Kyo-chan's smile barely seemed to fit his thin face was all too distracting, he couldn't help it. Kyo-chan had always had soft features and slightly chubby cheeks for as long as he'd known him, so the contrast was stark.

"Yeah, Kyo-chan, but Takeshi promised I could have more cake if I helped!” He tried once again, batting his eyelashes and putting on his most adorable puppy dog eyes. He wasn’t sure how much more he could do, honestly; it wasn’t something you automatically know how to handle, after all, “Please?”

Kyoya just declined once more, taking the box to the back room with shaking arms and bowed knees, chapped lip between his teeth as he tried to pretend that he wasn’t over-exerting himself. Hani just watched sadly, trying to decide what course of action to take, when he realised that the decision wasn’t like a fork in the road, but a clearing with no visible path. He’d have to make a completely baseless decision, and he didn’t even have a compass to check the way – let alone a map.

He wished there was one, though. Someone can only go so long on just green tea and coffee, and he didn’t want to see Kyo-chan crumble in on himself. Not now, not ever. The guilt of staying silent would swallow him whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am never, ever doing Hani's POV again. I'm sorry guys, I just don't like the little brat, and I was focusing too much on making him decent to enjoy writing this one. 
> 
> Still, I think it turned out alright, and I put something that no one ever seems to talk about, in regards to Mori. Considering the poor boy self harms on-screen (by-proxy, but the feelings are there), it's never talked about like that, which I actually think is a shame. I'll probably write something with our strong, silent type soon, but we'll see ;)


	4. Night Worries and Coffee Stains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It wasn't Hikaru's place. Well, it was, but it wasn't like he could even say anything. After all, he's a dumbass who can't get his words straight.
> 
> He doesn't want to hurt them.

Hikaru was confused.

Kaoru might make some jab as to how that wasn't an unusual state of affairs, but in all seriousness... All he really knew about this situation was that it was bad. Kaoru looked tired, and more than a little fed up, as he rubbed a hand over his face, finally breaking eye-contact with the computer screen. There was a tense tightness to his face, something pinched and pained, and Hikaru desperately wanted to just snatch his brother up into a hug at the sight of it.

"You'll get wrinkles if you keep frowning like that," He stated, manner-of-factly, trying to push some sort of reaction out of Kaoru. He didn't care if it was just a dismissive snort, he just needed to ease the odd, out of place tension in the room.

"Please, I'll still be getting ID'd when I'm forty," Kaoru waved away, and Hikaru was pleased to see an ever so slight loosening of his shoulders, "I've just... got to do this, okay? I need some peace and then -"

"Just tell me what's going on, man," Hikaru sighed, throwing himself onto the coach next to his brother, head on his shoulders and nosily trying to look at what Kaoru had been staring so intently at. However, when he saw what it was, something in his chest dropped down to the bottom of his stomach with an almost painful twang. It was one of those online symptom checkers, "Kaoru... Are you sick?"

He started flitting around his brother, hands pressed against his forehead, his cheek, trying to feel for any sign of fever - as if that'd be a definitive answer. Kaoru was trying to swat him away, nose wrinkled and mouth in a tense line, but stopped when the laptop almost crashed to the floor with how the two of them had been squirming around.

"Get off," Kaoru groused, pushing him away with one final, hard shove, "It's not for me, okay? Just leave it alone. Go bother the maids if you’re bored, they'd probably get away with murdering you."

"Bullshit!" He squawked, sounding a little too much like an offended parrot for his tastes, and he quickly cleared his throat. He tried to catch a glimpse of the screen once more, morbidly curious, "They'd get caught before breakfast, let's be honest here. Mum and dad love to make absolute sure we're both safe, after all."

A sly smirk emerged on Kaoru's face, eyes pinched and expression somewhat rat-like, especially for someone with their looks. Hikaru took that half-moment to catch another glimpse of the laptop screen, a few more puzzle pieces fitting into place when he saw "weight loss" and "fatigue" typed into the search bar.

"You think they don't look like two girls with experience?" Kaoru teased, angling the laptop screen so that it was almost closed, hidden from Hikaru's view, "They've definitely killed a man before, just look in their eyes."

The room went quiet, nothing more really coming to Hikaru's mind. Weight loss and fatigue could only really mean one thing, and he just needed to turn it over in his head for a moment.

He wasn't an idiot. He wasn't so self-absorbed that he didn’t see what was going on with Kyoya. You’d have to be blind not to, really. He’d always been skinnier than a rail, acting more like a clothes hanger for his uniform than actually wearing it, but lately it’d just gotten absurd. His mother’s industry was fashion, he’d hung around models, yet their senpai was thin even by their standards. He was an agency’s wet dream, really; fine features, tiny frame.

 All the girls in the club seemed to both be jealous and in awe, such is the way beauty standards are. They don’t see bowed legs and concave stomachs, they see goals. They don’t notice the aching legs, the fainting, the smell of the bathrooms before a photoshoot, because they aren’t meant to. Stick thin is pretty, the methods of achieving it aren’t.

Kyoya's teeth were coffee stained, yet still holding a somewhat grey tone to the enamel that really didn't look healthy. His pallor was whiter than a sheet of paper, and his skin was blotchy and uneven. He was getting spots, patches of skin discoloured with green and yellow hues. He wasn't like a pretty, porcelain doll; he was closer to that image before, honestly, and Hikaru had no clue as to why that had been abandoned. Even if Kaoru was in denial, and Tamaki was fumbling with his words, Hikaru could see the expressions he knew too well.

The lies spilled over Kyoya's lips, caustic and sour as puke, not that anything would come up. An excuse always lay on the tip of his tongue, like those stupid sugar free mints, and he'd spin his truths and lies together almost seamlessly. Nausea, forgetfulness, lack of time, lack of appetite.

But it wasn't like Hikaru thought he was superior for noticing, of course not. They'd all noticed, fully accepting this as what it was or otherwise. He was seeing things clearly, he was sure, but... He didn't say a word. It wasn't his place, wasn't his concern; even if that was a lie because Kaoru was steadily growing more and more stressed from all this. Part of him hated Kyoya for that, but something more rational corrected him; it wasn't Kyoya's fault.

Kyoya was sick, and no one chose that. He was just angry at the situation they'd all been put in.

"Kaoru..." He began, intending to at least break the delusion - the misplaced trust and hope - that pulled the veil over his brother's eyes, but the words wouldn't come. It was like his jaw had been wired shut, stiff and unmoving, words stuck behind his molars like a cyanide pill in a spy flick.

His brother hummed in response, eyes locked on the laptop screen once more, keys clacking as if it were Kyoya typing, not Kaoru. He didn’t look up, too intent on trying to find a more palatable alternative to what was happening.

He didn’t have the heart to say anything, to either of them. He always says the wrong thing, anyway…


	5. Plans and Sleepless Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haruhi couldn't let herself watch from the sidelines anymore. The silence on the matter was far too dangerous, and Kyoya was constantly balancing on the line he shouldn't cross. Only now, he was wavering dizzily. 
> 
> Like he always seemed to, nowadays.

Haruhi had truly been disturbed the day before, seeing just how thin Kyoya had gotten, limbs willowy and almost curved from lack of fat and muscle. It disturbed everyone. She saw the looks on their faces, Kaoru expressing those concerns out loud but being dismissed. It hurt to watch.

However, she also knew that it was a slightly selfish thought. Kyoya-senpai had to be suffering more than the rest of them, considering that Tamaki told them how the boy collapsed from the pains in his legs while running, barely able to move. Tamaki had to carry him and, while the others shared worried murmurs, she heard him whisper "he was so light".

Of course he was. All you had to do was look at the uniform trousers that swallowed his thin legs, the shirts and blazers that hung off his shoulders, the cheekbones that were cut as harsh as diamonds. He was so... sad. She could only spot it when he was tired, which in itself was becoming more and more often, but it was there. His eyes were just... dull. He never smiled genuinely, and you could certainly tell Kyoya's real smiles from his plastic perfect ones.

He just looked ill, also. His eyes were red, bloodshot and bruised, his skin pale, and he always seemed to be shivering. His fingers were icy to the touch, she'd discovered while passing him yet another cup of green tea, and his nails turned a purplish blue. It was concerning, very much so.

However, what pushed concerning into the realm of terrifying, was what she'd been observing. Those bony, blue tinted fingers pinching at the barest amount of tissue paper skin that stretched over his bones. It was subtle, attempted to be hidden with crossed arms and quick touches. He ran fingertips over his protruding collar bones when he seemed... nervous. Or, as nervous as Kyoya ever was.

She wanted to talk to him, needed to say something. But that just didn’t happen, because Kyoya wouldn’t let it. He dodged her as if she were a bullet, twisted his way out of any potential conversation, wouldn’t let her say by his side any longer than a moment or two. It was becoming rather frustrating. She supposed she could share the findings with the others but, at the same time, that was a violation of the privacy Kyoya deserved.

Or, so she’d thought until yesterday. Until seeing Kyoya’s thigh gap. If he was that far gone, that ill, then privacy wasn’t something he _could_ have. She was agonising over what to do, how to avoid overreaction and missteps that could only hinder their ability to help. Her dad had been concerned when he got home, she was usually in bed and she'd just been staring at the wall while she thought on prominent bones and cold skin. Of things that couldn't be healthy. Of spines and ribs and collar bones.

She wanted to say something, ask her father's advice, but she couldn't. She knew Ranka wouldn't overreact, that he was good at these things, but still. She couldn't shake the thought that, if she was going to tell Ranka so easily, she might as well just call Tamaki now to discuss it. There were similarities between the two of them, attitude-wise, after all.

But she said nothing, only giving some half-hearted excuse as she went to bed, feeling his concerned gaze on her back. She'd say something soon, if Kyoya was okay with it, but not now.

She didn't know what to do, honestly. No one prepares you for this, and when in a group like the host club, bystander effect comes into play. You think someone else will say something, so you put it off, again and again. That was how it came to this, Kyoya’s bones and skin and little more. Freezing even when in the club room, which was always a comfortably toasty temperature.

She sighed, staring up at the ceiling as she tried to convince her eyes to close, to stop worrying and go to sleep. It wouldn't do any good to lose sleep over it. Her insomnia wouldn't magically fix what was wrong.

But, despite this fact, her mind played what-if scenarios that... scared her. Hospitals, a skeleton, beeps and intubation and feeding tubes. A heart getting eaten away and a casket that was too wide for someone so thin.

A growl rose in her throat, frustrated that her mind was fixating on possibilities that were - hopefully - not going to happen. Kyoya was not going to die. She was jumping to conclusions and only worrying herself stupid in the process. They'd talk to Kyoya, he'd get help, and he'd recover. Slowly, but still. He'd get better.

Still, it wasn’t like it was easy to will yourself to stop imagining these things after you start. A morbid fascination, in a way. A thought that twists your guts and makes you ill, but some part of you still clings to it. She had to wonder if Kyoya felt like that now, stomach concave and everything aching, yet unable to eat. Unable to let go.

But she shouldn't get into that, not now. It was late, and she should just concentrate on having a plan in mind for the day ahead. Telling Tamaki first made sense, as he was in Kyoya's class and could keep an eye on him. Then there were the twins; especially Kaoru as he was Kyoya's... sort-of-boyfriend? She didn't actually know what label to give them, really, but the point was that they cared for each other. Honey and Mori were last, just because she'd see them last and they didn't have the strong connections to Kyoya that Tamaki and Kaoru did, even if they were both still his friends.

It wasn't complicated. It was setting up a much-needed intervention that should've been arranged before it got to this point. Still, they weren't too late - hopefully. He was thin, and sick, but not dying. Not yet. They'd help him, even if there was no magical fix for something like this. They had to.

She shifted onto her side, curling up and cuddling into the blankets, trying to stop her mind from whirring and settle down. It would all be fine. He had Tamaki with him all day tomorrow, and a family full of doctors at home. It wasn't like, when he lay down tonight, his heart would stop and he'd drift away, the little heat remaining within his skin cooling. He wouldn't be much paler, that was surely impossible.

Haruhi pressed her pillow over her ears, as if that would block out the noise in her mind, and bit her lip. She hadn't been able to say goodbye to her mum, either. She had been pale and dizzy and then her body gave up on her, like Kyoya's would if he didn't get better soon...

She didn't get any sleep that night.


	6. Sick Jealousy and Anger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morinozukas aren't supposed to be angry. Their supposed to be stoic, kind and polite. Still...
> 
> If that were really true, then he wouldn't have broken his hand.

Takashi liked to think of himself as a good person. He was told he was polite, respectful, and he was a good friend to those he was close to. He was quiet, and anxious, but everyone has flaws. Still, recently, he was doubting those compliments he'd been paid more than ever.

Kyoya and he were friends, despite the both of them being introverted. They sat at the same table, drank tea, and Kyoya would work while he read; a companionable silence between the two of them. It was how they worked, no pressure from speaking about views and beliefs, but... They really were friends.

Which was Takashi's main source of guilt. He watched, he saw, they shared looks between them, but he never actually managed to push the words forward from the tip of his tongue. He pushed snacks towards his friend, but they were left uneaten as Kyoya's cheeks seemed to hollow before his eyes. Thinner and thinner, more and more fragile. He looked so small, almost as if his height had decreased with his waistline. His thin face made his eyes look bigger and more owlish than before. He wanted to scoop him up in his arms and just... help him.

Of course, this wasn't to do with Hikaru and Kaoru's theory that he had a "fetish" for small things. Kyoya never wanted to look vulnerable, but his appearance had changed almost drastically. He looked sad and hungry, frail and weak; the things Kyoya Ootori never wanted to seem. Because Kyoya was prideful, and he always felt the need to appear strong before everyone else.

Takashi knew what it was like, putting on that porcelain mask that looked so perfect, yet so easily breakable. He knew how it felt when you tried to cover up your self-destructive vices and coping mechanisms. He knew what it was like to hurt yourself in some effort to make up for your shortcomings or failures. After all, his hand still ached in cold weather, and the memory of his mother and father taking turns to help him bathe was all too fresh and embarrassing. No one said anything, even if Kyoya's lips parted and tongue pushed stuttered word fragments towards him. He didn't know if he just didn't hear the rest because of the blood rushing through his ears, or whether _Kyoya Ootori_ actually had no idea what to say.

It wasn't really what their friendship was, worrying about each other. In their own, separate ways, they were supposed to be the strongest of the hosts, but no one knew how to act when chinks showed in their armour. Least of all themselves. In the end, his broken hand was never addressed as what it was, and Kyoya continued to push away anything he was offered - besides black coffee and green tea, that is.

He supposed you could say that they were enabling each other by letting all these issues stay silent and fester. Not quite, but they might as well. After all, they were both logical people with irrational coping mechanisms. His bruises, breaks and cuts, and Kyoya's bones slowly becoming more and more visible under his pale skin.

It was Haruhi, of course, who finally kicked them into action. The bold commoner teeming with common sense. She'd ran over to him and Mitsukuni, relaying her plan, before she ran off to find the others. An intervention. After all, how thin Kyoya had managed to become... before all this, Takashi thought it was reserved for drug addicts and the terminally ill. It was something that made him feel scared when he looked at his kohai. It was unnatural and sickening, the extent that he managed to hollow his body out to.

Still, sitting in class as both classes and free time seemed to speed by, yet drag at a frustratingly slow crawl… He felt jealous. He knew he shouldn’t, that it wasn’t fair, but he couldn’t help it. Everyone was rallying around Kyoya, everyone was concerned, and that wasn’t the case when it came to his… self-harm. It wasn’t like he wanted to look as visibly sick as Kyoya, like he wanted to be that ill, but the awful voice at the back of his mind whispered about how concerned they’d all be if he became the stereotype. If he picked up a razor and cut his arms to ribbons, almost bleeding out and laying pale and prone on the hospital bed.

He didn’t want that, though. He didn’t hurt himself as some sick plight for attention, he did it so that he could atone for his own mistakes and earn forgiveness. From who, he wasn’t sure – but it was still valid. It wasn’t like he was some stupid teenager posting photos of their bleeding cuts on social media. He wasn’t like that.

The bell rang, the boisterous noise of students exiting their class for the day cutting through his internal tirade. Push it down. The things he thought… They weren’t nice, polite or kind. Angry words tainted with acrid bile, and that wasn’t who he was. Wasn’t how a Morinozuka should behave. Those people didn’t deserve anything he’d just thought of them, it wasn’t their fault, and… He couldn’t be angry, shouldn’t be angry. Because that wasn’t what was needed right now.

Kyoya needed them all to be kind and supportive, soft and careful. He might not want to believe it, but Takashi could see that both his physical and mental state was more comparable to spun glass than the wrought iron the boy attempted to imitate. There was something tragically beautiful in its fragility, but you couldn’t handle it with anything more than a featherlight touch.

He didn’t even notice himself scratching until he saw Mitsukuni out of the corner of his eye, mouth pulled into an uncharacteristically straight line. Angry, red marks stung his forearms, and he quickly tugged his sleeves down to hide them. He didn’t look at his cousin, didn’t need to.

“Takashi?” Mitsukuni inquired, his tone somewhat serious for once, and he balled his hands into fists. His nails bit into his palms, and all was balanced – at least for now.

“Mitsukuni?” He mirrored, looking up from his hands with the stoicism perfected over the years. There was a moment or two, a faulter, words trying to be summoned when his cousin just didn’t know what to say. He just continued the flat stare, and eventually the subject was dropped before it even began. How hypocritical, feeling jealous of the concern yet hating it when it actually came.

“We should get to club, Kyo-chan needs us…” He began, sadness tainting the words, and Takashi stood. He collected his bag, accompanied Mitsukuni as they walked to the third music room, and tried not to think about flaying the skin off his arms.

They all talked a little before Tamaki arrived with Kyoya, having been tasked to hinder him a little so that Haruhi could give the rest some instruction. Of course, this wasn’t particularly needed, but it made the others feel more secure in the plan. After all, if someone – Hikaru – were to say something unkind, it would send it all crashing to the floor and leave them all picking up pieces. This was serious.

Kyoya’s light footfalls were almost drowned by Tamaki’s shoes clacking against the polished floor. Tamaki strode, owned the room as soon as he entered, but Kyoya was now almost shy in comparison. Small, slow and dainty. There was something close to alarm on his gaunt face, obviously having some sort of premonition as to what this was about. He had an odd sense for these things, so it would make sense.

Still, seeing his eyes widen and his teeth catch his chapped lip; the image was much more reminiscent of a deer in headlights than the youngest son of the Ootori family. He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, but Kyoya’s breathing seemed harder – quicker and more laborious. Fear. He was pale-faced and frightened, despite his attempt at hiding it, but all it took was a few simple words to topple him from the knife’s edge he balanced on.

“We’re here to help you, Kyoya.”

Tamaki’s words triggered something, certainly. Kyoya brushed passed both himself and Hikaru, almost floating like the wisp of a boy he was. His steps were somewhat clumsier now, a little louder, and Kaoru asked what he was doing as if all the breath was taken from his lungs.

“I need some water…” Kyoya informed, hand pressed to his head. Takashi frowned at the slur in his words, the slump in his posture, but held back until he heard Kyoya’s damning whisper, “Everything’s dark… I can’t see…”

The boy’s body finally gave out, folding and crumpling like satin; thin and slow. Luckily, he managed to catch Kyoya before his head hit the floor, but this didn’t put his mind at ease. He didn’t just invoke the image of falling satin, he might as well be made of it for all he weighed. Bones pressed into his palms, scapula so prominent it was almost as if Kyoya had wings budding and growing under his skin. He was cold, like a corpse, and just as prone.

Tamaki went to call the nurse, but he didn’t really register that. He just held Kyoya close, trying to give some of his body heat to his friend. Like a soldier cradling his fallen comrade.

After all, it certainly didn’t feel like either of them were going to win their respective wars.


	7. Okay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was fine. Really. He was cold all the time, he couldn't lay on his side without his bones aching and rubbing bruises onto his skin, but it was okay. 
> 
> They should all stop worrying over nothing.

When Kyoya stirred, he found himself rather disorientated. He remembered having this intervention sprung on him, remembered that he'd gone to get some water, and everything went dark. Fuchsia spots danced in front of his eyes, and next thing he knew he was on the ground. He might've hit his head, there was an ache that felt like something trying to chisel away at his skull, but he wasn't sure.

What he did know, however, was that he actually felt warm. For a while now, it was like the chill had locked itself under his skin, frost replacing his bone marrow, but it wasn't there now. He just snuggled closer to the source of that delicious heat, wanting more, eyes tightly closed against the light threatening to pierce his skull and eyes painfully. There was also the case to be made that, as long as he was asleep, he didn't have to deal with any of the repercussions this was sure to have.

"What am I meant to do?" He heard someone say, but he couldn't tell who. It was all distorted, fading in and out and he wasn't sure he even wanted to know at this point, "Do I call the nurse? An ambulance? I mean, we know what it is. The stubborn jackass didn't eat lunch, wouldn't let me give him anything... Fuck."

Tamaki? He did remember the blond idiot being more incessant about how good the soup was than usual, trying to convince him to have some. Still, it was a fast day, and he couldn't spare the calories. It was maybe a little too far to push, but it all looked so neat and perfect, everything lined up in his journal and feeling so happy. Zero calories is good, negative calories are even better, but the jog he'd taken that morning was probably what pushed him over the edge.

"I don't know. I wasn't expecting him to just... collapse like that. I thought we could actually talk it out before it got to that point, but I guess we left it too long."

He was fine, they shouldn't worry so much. He was just... He didn't know. He didn't know anything. But it made him feel better than he had in months, every pound dropped feeling like an accomplishment, every goal he hit a rush of pride. Goal weights change, his body changes too, but he couldn't hate it. He didn't think of himself as fat, not at all. It wasn't like that, even if he knew - logically - that this was an eating disorder.

He wasn't dysmorphic, he just knew he could go thinner. Knew that another pair of ribs could emerge through his skin, that his hipbones could be sharper, that the hollows of his collar bones could still be deeper. Numbers were nice, safe, and always had been since he was young. Statistics, probability, profit. Usually the numbers were better the higher you went, but this was different. You go lower, and lower, and he hit one hundred and twenty pounds at break-neck speed and the adrenaline to match.

Still, people went for an even hundred, maybe less. It didn't matter that he was almost six foot, one hundred pounds sounded like pure dopamine. A surge, a high, a smile that strained his lips and made his cheekbones ache. It was the control he'd so often longed for - tiny portions, denying what others couldn't, neat figures all written in his lovely journal - but the sense of unpredictability that he'd sought from the host club - losing more and more, dizzy spells, cold, lanugo. He needed it, and a host had to look a certain way.

He couldn't be muscular like the other boys, having a delicate frame and sickly constitution, but he could be small. He could be thin and light, breakable. The ladies loved it, lusted after it, were jealous of it. He could be this. He was pretty, but also common. Black hair, glasses, nothing too special. A good bone structure, but an icy personality. While he understood that the "cool type" had its charm, you had to be beautiful to back it up. He was just good looking, whereas the others were almost ethereal.

He groaned when another stab of pain washed over him, burying his face into what he could now feel was a muscular pain of legs, feeling all too stiff and sore.

"Kyoya?" He heard Mori murmur, a rough hand shifting through his hair, "Are you awake?"

He nodded slightly, trying to push himself up on his shaking arms, but was quickly prevented from doing so. Probably for the best. If he got up to quickly, he'd likely black out again, and then his fate really would be sealed. How to get out of this was the question, not wanting to give up one of his only vices. It made him feel _human_ and _real_ , which he certainly wasn’t interested in abandoning.

It was only about seventeen pounds to that even-hundred he’d set as his UGW. Really, what was that? What was seventeen pounds going to bring about that he didn’t have already – except the thrill of accomplishment. He’d be fine, he always was.

Of course, some part of him recognised the bullshit he was feeding himself, swallowing it down like ice and cotton balls, trying to fill the empty pit he felt in his gut. Thin wasn’t pretty, in reality. It wasn’t oversized jumpers and sweater paws, it wasn’t porcelain pale, it wasn’t doll-like and beautiful. It was painful, and it was finding nothing that fit you properly, and it was finding chucks of black hair on his pillow, falling out in the shower, twined between the teeth of his comb.

But nothing made him feel this good. He loved every moment, he told himself, even when he was curled up tightly in bed, his stomach twisting so hard that it might cut itself in half. He really did. He was okay. He was better like this.

“What happened?” He croaked, finally, even though he knew. Even though they all knew. Play the innocent, try and get away with it, he was just so _close_. He was almost one hundred and fifty pounds only a few months ago, and now his goal was so, so close. He couldn’t stop, didn’t want to, but his friends would want it to stop. He didn’t want them to take this away from him.

“You fainted, because you haven’t been eating,” Kaoru stated, words flowing uninterrupted, concern pinching his expression. Kyoya wanted to reach up and wipe it away, tasting something bitter in the back of his throat, but didn’t. It was his body, so it was his own choice. Whereas some stuffed themselves to the brim, he chose not to partake in the smallest morsel. It was fine, really.

But they’d never see that.

“I’ve been sick…” He began, gaze flitting over his friends faces, trying not to let any hint of guilt shine through. Luckily, his mask was perfect, even long before this came into his life, “I’ve had no appetite, and I’ve been too nauseous. It’s nothing to worry about.”

Despite Mori’s protestations, he managed to sit up, even if the world did fade dangerously for a moment or two. They couldn’t see him laying there vulnerable, not if they were going to be convinced that he truly was alright. Because he was, the fainting spell notwithstanding.

“Kyoya, we know that’s not what’s going on,” Haruhi began, her tone soft and dangerously close to maternal, “If that was really the case, you’d be honestly trying to eat more, especially with how much weight you’ve lost, but you’re not. Please, just be honest with us, what’s going on?”

Something surged inside his chest, reminiscent of vomit and bile but not exactly, his temper flaring as she shut down his excuses. It was an unfair reaction, especially considering that he was well aware he was lying through his teeth, but he couldn’t help it. This felt all too intrusive, despite their effort to be gentle, and he wanted to keep this unpredictable control closer to his chest for a little while longer.

He felt better than ever with his head floating above his shoulders, with constant goals to strive towards, uncovering his bones so neatly and prettily. He didn’t want it ripped away, not yet. Just a little while longer, a couple more weeks, and he’d hit his UGW. He’d stop then, an even hundred pounds, and he’d actually feel good enough _for once_.

“Nothing’s going on, I’m fine,” He huffed, the icy mask he usually donned thin and threatening to shatter, “I was only a little dizzy because of my hypotension, and I didn’t eat because I knew I’d just vomit it all up. Really, you all worry far too much; it’s nothing.”

He felt a soft grasp around his thigh, looking down to find Kaoru's hand circling his bone-thin limb. A smile threatened to emerge, the fact that it seemed so easy to encircle it was like heroin, and he wanted more. Once he lost even more, it would only get easier. The gap between his thighs was already impressive, already close to what he saw late at night, browsing through the vast array of “thinsporation” the internet had to offer.

It was also killing two birds with one stone, being an adolescent boy who was between partners. The boys in those photos just looked so perfect, artfully dishevelled and collarbones cutting through paper-thin skin like knives. He wanted it. He wanted to be on par with that, with those who were successful in this self-destructive venture. It all looked so inviting, and he was so close.

He couldn't lay on his side anymore, his hipbones cutting into blood vessels and staining his pale skin black and blue. It hurt, of course, as did the pressure on his scapula. However, it was easy enough just to sleep on his back, or to fill up on black coffee and spend the night being productive.

"Stop lying," Hikaru cut in, voice hard, shaking slightly as he narrowed his eyes at Kyoya, "Stop trying to play it off like that. Stop exploiting the fact that no one wants to admit what you're doing to yourself. You think we're stupid? Well, we aren't the ones starving ourselves to death! Keep it up, and that's where you're going."

"Hikaru!" Tamaki cut in, just as loud, and Kyoya felt like the air was knocked from his lungs. Too loud, too explosive, too much. It was overwhelming, the water-level rising and ingulfing his head, drowning him in noise, "That's not going to help, so calm down."

Kyoya pushed himself to his feet, hand shoved in his pocket to retrieve his phone to call Tachibana, gritting his teeth against the awful pain in his knees. He needed out. He needed to be away from here, from this questioning, from this concern. The words kept ringing in his head, lodging in his throat and obstructing his airway; "we aren't the ones starving ourselves to death". It wasn't that bad, he wasn't that far gone, and he knew the risks.

He knew anorexia had the highest mortality rate of any mental illness, but that wasn’t _him_. He was going to stop when the numbers were all neat and perfect, and he had the self-control and willpower to follow through. He knew he wasn’t fat, he could just be thinner. He just didn’t want to gain weight. He didn’t want to lose the control he’d found.

“Kyoya,” Kaoru began, surging forward and snatching his wrist in an effort to prevent him from leaving, and he was too weak to break the hold. Kaoru was strong, and he wasn’t. His blood glucose was low, likely his pulse and blood pressure as well, and his body ate up what little muscle he had to keep his heart beating. It was all expected, nothing was a surprise, yet at that moment the fact that he could die was repeating in his head.

But he knew the damn risks! He’d be fine! He just had to get away from the judging stares and words of his friends, had to find some room to _breathe_ , and it’d be okay. He just needed to clear his head, and not a single person in this room was letting him.

“Let me go,”  He seethed, quiet and dangerous. Despite his body being fragile and his bones so light they could be as hollow as a bird’s, his personality was still intimidating. He was still the fucking shadow king, and they shouldn’t forget that. He was still an Ootori and someone with more influence than your average, waif-like seventeen year old.

“Kyoya, please… Please let us help you,” Kaoru pleaded, tears shining in his eyes that were just so _genuine_ , but the sentiment was all wrong. They didn’t understand, they could never, and he gritted his teeth harder with every incorrect assumption that was offered up.

“You’re in over your head, and that’s okay…”

“You’re sick now, but we’ll help you get better…”

“You’ve lost control, so we’ll just get you back on track…”

“Shut up!” He screamed, finally loosing his cool and turning on Kaoru, glaring. He almost looked rabid, he could sense that in the way that Kaoru looked at him – shocked and so, so _scared_ – but he couldn’t help it. They’d all run their mouths enough, and he couldn’t take another botched analysis of his mental state. He needed to go, and he’d be as angry as he had to be.

He wretched his wrist from Kaoru’s grasp, gone weak with shock, and turned his back on his friends. He’d have to hide for a little while, as they were sure to follow when the shock of his explosive reaction calmed down, but it was fine. Tachibana would be there as soon as he was able.

“I’m perfectly in control,” He stated, letting the door close behind him as he made his way to the entrance. Hopefully he could stay in one of the classrooms there before Tachibana came to collect him, evading the club.

Evading his friends. The people who were worried about him.

But that didn’t matter. He could apologise, when he was calmer and they had time to realise that he didn’t need to be worried over. He was okay. Really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that's the end of pretty! Of course, this is going to be a series, so keep an eye out for sequels (yes, plural, I'm crying). Please leave reviews and the like, they really help me out, and thank you for reading. See you next time!


End file.
